IXXI - Beyond the Rupture

Well, I am the face of sorrow in every man of self-respect
an dignity.
When he goes to war, builds to wreck, or simply hates..
Care and precaution, maintain and guide toward
reconstitution..
Yes the highest form of token! The fresh scent of a new
revolt.

I am your saviour when reason is your shackles..

In the eye of the storm of the world beyond
Seated was I the grave jester
Disposing adorned notions of veracity
Revealed as imbecile as credence in them festered

Beholding the secular final, determinism in impartial
negation
Musing heedlessness for come-true table -
Contemptuous lecture of deities
Be they demons or nothing be my path not of strength
but of schools

Bastard, sightless, infidel masses
The bomb and chilling thrills
Liberal scavenging working-classes
A total degeneration of wills

So obvious, now
A last hope of renewal
Glimmering in revolt against insignificance
The Bridge shrouded in mist
To the portent of forever!